


Open Wounds

by montes-carpatus (Carpathyah)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpathyah/pseuds/montes-carpatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some injuries can't heal themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> First Overwatch Fic contribution / My characterization of Reaper needs some work for sure.

He knew her well enough that she would be awake at this ungodly hour of the night. She would be on the sofa in the common room of their current base with books at her side and a notebook and pencil. Wearing a pair of black leggings and her favourite orange cardigan over a tank top,  her glasses would be at the tip of her nose, making her look a bit like an old lady.

He was hiding it for days now. Hiding it with his strict face and unapproachable attitude. It hurt, it bled on and off. His skin never knew what it wanted to do. He wrapped bandages around it, changing them every so often but it wasn’t getting any better. 

Angela, he needed Angela. 

His footsteps were light, barely making a sound across the wooden floor. He walked over to her side and she still hadn’t noticed him standing there. 

“Angela,” he started, placing his hand on her shoulder. She was barely phased as she turned to look up at him, fixing her glasses.

“Gabriel, what are you doing up so late?” she asked as she closed her notebook. She twisted her body so she could make room for him. He sat on the sofa and stayed quiet for a few moments, trying to not be too direct. Angela patiently waited for him to speak. 

He pulled up the side of his shirt to reveal the blood soaked bandages. She gasped as her thin fingers traced the skin around it, inspecting the damage. 

“I-I can’t fix you here. Come with me to my office,” she concluded. She got up first for him to follow. She never asked questions. Never would. It wasn’t her priority to know how, when, and where.

Her office, adjoined to her living quarters, was similar to a surgeon’s office. She switched her cardigan for white lab coat and put on her first pair of purple sterile gloves. She ran around the room, preparing her table with alcohols, cotton pads and metal tools. He watched her open cupboards and drawers to get her things. 

Reminiscent of the days in the operating room in Zurich, the sounds of metal tools and opening of sterile wrappers brought back memories of years ago. 

_ “Gabriel! Gabriel! Stay with me!”  _ Angela cried as she worked on him for many weeks. He remembered the pain, the smell of disinfectant and gunpowder. He never found out what she actually did but his body was the result. He remembered the pain, the fear, and the yelling.

He had left her, accusing her of making him into a monster. His muscles died and rebuilt themselves too quickly. He ran away back to the United States, swearing to never see her again.

“I’ve done some light stitching but your condition will do the rest in time. The wound was too wide for the regeneration to close it in time before the decay began reacting “ she spoke as she taped the clean bandage onto him. Her gloves had some blood on them as she wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve.

He didn’t know how to thank her. Some of the anger was coming up in his throat but he swallowed it down. She walked away from him in silence as she disposed of her medical equipment. She took off her mask and her gloves and put them in the trash. 

Gabriel sat up, feeling much better as his condition worked its voodoo underneath the bandage. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. His face heating up in the slightest as she removed her lab coat and the palest of scars reflected in the bright white lights. On her back, where her shoulder blades were located, were two distinct light pink, almost white scars. Whether they were the result of her wings or not, they looked deep.

Suddenly his mind began asking questions about Zurich, about her procedures, what she did, why, and if they could ever mend what was broken. Some of the answers spoke for themselves in the way her arms were crossed over her chest but they weren’t words and he wanted words. 

“Angela,” he called her name. His voice cracked at the end, sounding like a hiccup. 

“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow,” she told him. The hostility rose as she opened the door for him to leave. He stood up from the table and walked towards her. 

They were in proximity for too long. 

Maybe it was a bad idea to come see her for this to begin with. 

The closer he came, the tighter she crossed her arms. 

“I need answers, Angela,” he calmly told her. Her eyes darted away. 

It was like her, avoiding conversations. She hadn’t changed. 

She showed her hand, palm up for him to touch it. He placed his hand on hers, feeling how cold, stiff, but soft her hand was. There was no warmth left in her. 

“Death is a mysterious thing. I don’t doubt your knowledge in the subject,” she pulled her hand away. It gave little to his imagination; no direct answers. 

“When are you planning on telling me these things, Angela? I need to know,” he argued. “Talk to me.”

She walked past him, not wanting to be so close.

“You think I don’t feel guilty for what happened to you? You weren’t supposed to become what you are. You went against all my calculations,” she vaguely explained. “I couldn’t lose you. I wasn’t going to lose you.” 

“It was my fight, Angela, I never wanted you to intervene. You went between myself and Jack,” he continued.

“Jack was going to be fine, you were dead!  _ Tot _ !” she interrupted before lowering her tone and calming down. “I went against commands to save you.”

Her arms were around her chest again. Her eyes seemed on the brink of tears.

Jack, Jack wanted him dead but that was old news to him. Gabriel suspected that Jack dragged Angela into his own mess. She couldn’t say no to her friend and superior. But she did, and he was alive again.

“Do you remember ‘us’, Gabriel?” she choked. 

His shoulders fell. He did. Most of it was a blur over time and years of trying to forget Overwatch in its entirety, but the vague memories of a younger Angela were still clear.

“When I saved you, I just wanted my Gabriel back. I wanted my lover in the flesh,” she further admitted. “I can’t love you again. My heart doesn’t beat the same anymore. I, too, am calloused by death.”

There was nothing more to say. The weight of his grudge felt heavier on his shoulder. Angela only tried to help him, save him, but he tossed everything aside when he resurrected and never thought of her. He brainwashed himself to forget and she brought back memories. 

Angela hiccuped in his chest, apologizing over and over in German.  _ Entschuldigung... Entschuldigung…  _ He wrapped his arms tighter around her, tangling his fingers in her golden hair.

He didn’t kiss her, it wouldn’t solve anything. It would only bandage years of damage.  
  
When he pulled apart, he made sure that she had nothing left to fear, nothing to hide from him anymore. She was exhausted; her eyes couldn’t stay open. He brought her to bed, making sure that she had enough blankets to warm her up. He pushed her hair out of her face before leaving the room. 


End file.
